Hitting The Floor
by sdbubbles
Summary: ...and maybe even falling through it. She wakes up after spending the night in her office, and there is something not right with her. But can she accept that she needs to change the way she lives if she wants the numbness and pains to go away?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a strange one, I think. It has two issues in it: a bad situation and the stress of coping with it. It might not be what you expect, but I hope it makes sense!**

**Sarah x**

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He walked into her office and found her lying on the floor. Silent. Still. Miserable. Asleep. She had a tiny blanket wrapped around her, using her rolled-up coat as a pillow. The make-up she'd worn when he watched her leave UCOS last night was melted and seriously askew, grey tear tracks on her white cheeks.

She must have gone home and came back here. He didn't know why, but he had his ideas. It would be another bad break-up; she had so many of them he thought she would have become immune by now. He knelt down beside her, gently rubbing her shoulder to wake her up. "Sandra," he whispered, not wanting to startle her out of her slumber.

She moaned as she stirred, wanting to stay where she was – asleep, so she couldn't feel the hangover and she didn't have to experience the pain of yet another disaster in her love life. Last night was particularly nasty row, a particularly near miss. An _almost_ moment. So she escaped the ringing silence of her home, a place she was meant to be safe in, choosing instead to sleep on the hard floor of her office. Her mobile rang through the night, but she put it on silent and stuffed it in her bag by about two in the morning.

"Sandra," she heard a familiar voice call her gently back to the present. She turned around slowly to find a face she knew well, laced with concern for her well-being upon finding her sleeping on her office floor.

"What?" she groaned. Her back ached from the way she slept. Her head ached from the tension of the previous night. Her eyes still stung from the tears she cried.

"Time to get up, don't you think?" he said to her, helping her upright. She tugged her arms free from his grip, not wanting any assistance from him. She guided herself up, using her desk as a crutch, and stood up straight. But her right foot gave way, unable to support her weight. She looked down at it. She couldn't feel pain. She couldn't feel _anything_ in her right foot. It was numb. Nothing there.

Gerry caught her before she fell, and demanded, "You alright?"

"Must have got up too quickly," she lied smoothly. She rubbed her eyes to wake herself properly, flakes or ruined mascara coming off onto her fingers. "I'm going to wash my face."

She walked out, feeling like she was dragging her right foot along. It wouldn't cooperate – or do anything, for that matter. She made it to the bathrooms, staring at her reflection. The woman before her was not someone she knew. She was looking at a deathly pale woman, with sweat on her forehead, and melted make up all over her face. This woman had visible black marks under her eyes, nothing to do with the make up situation at all.

She threw water about her face, wiping off the chemicals with a wet paper towel. When it was all gone, she saw just how pale she really was this morning. She thought on how she ended up here at half past eleven last night, uncomfortable in the silence of her own home. How could she, of all people, allowed this to happen to her?

When she returned to the UCOS office, all three of her boys were there and Strickland was sitting in a chair with a case file in her hand. Jack handed her a cup of coffee, and as she took it, she found her hands trembled. She turned to Strickland and asked him, "Have you got a case for us, sir?"

He held the file up, and she faked a smile. Good. She needed a distraction.

She brought the coffee mug up to her lips, drinking in the hot caffeine like her life depended on it. Her right hand shook when she brought the cup back down, and it slipped from her grasp. There was a sharp pain in her arm that turned almost instantly to a cold, frozen ache. The pain descended down her right side, right into her leg, and into her foot. Well, at least she felt _something_ in her foot now.

Her attention was pulled back to the situation around her by Strickland's concerned voice. "Sandra," he said, giving her a look of unusual concern. "Your hands. They're shaking," he pointed to her trembling hand.

"I'm fine, sir," she lied again. What was happening? Something wasn't right. She'd never been in so much pain, even after someone had hit her or decked her. It wasn't the usual kind of pain. It wasn't a stabbing pain, or a sharp pain, or a dull ache, or even a grinding pain. It felt like she was being frozen from the inside out on her right side.

Now her toes were going numb again; she could feel the sensation ebbing slowly from them. This was _strange_. She'd never felt anything like it in her life before. She reached out to Strickland for the file, losing her balance slightly. She grabbed his wrist so she wouldn't topple over to the floor, and he looked at her pale face. He decided not to say anything, because they both knew exactly what she was going to say.

When he left, she read through the file, involving the others. After an hour of discussions, she started giving orders. "Right," she said. "Jack and Brian, you two can go through the evidence and see what you make of it, since the original investigation doesn't appear to have made much effort." The nodded silently, not daring to question her well-being, so she turned on Gerry. "We'll go and see Sedona, Roma's sister."

She carefully went to get her keys, and her office spun around her. She latched onto the edge of her desk for support. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn't feel her right foot, and the numbness was ascending faster than she thought it might. Then she remembered she had a woman to talk to about the death of her little sister ten years ago, and forced herself to walk towards Gerry.

When they reached her car, she gave Gerry the keys. He raised an eyebrow at her, so she raised her right hand, holding it flat horizontally, watching the tremors ripple through it. "I'm stubborn, Gerry. I'm not suicidal."

The drive was silent, and Sandra was beginning to worry. Surreptitiously, she dug the nails of her left hand into her right thigh. Nothing. No pain, not even any pressure. She did the same to the back of her right hand before she got out of the car at the block of flats Sedona lived in and achieved the same thing: nothing.

Cautiously, she got up out of the car, leaning on the door with her left hand. Then the world was rushing in circles around her. Her hand slipped off the car door, and her right leg would not support her weight. She fell to the ground, and her eyes closed, refusing to open. She could still hear everything around her. She could hear Gerry frantically calling her name, and she wanted to reply, to let him know she would be fine, but her brain wouldn't let her do it.

And anyway, if she told him that, she knew now that she would be lying.

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here's the second chapter, and thank you for all your amazing reviews. You all really put a smile on my face during a horrible day!**

**Sarah x**

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Sandra was trying desperately to open her eyes, but she couldn't do it. She wasn't unconscious. She could hear Gerry trying to wake her and she could feel his hand grasping hers and him shaking her shoulder. She just couldn't respond in any way whatsoever. It was like she was paralysed.

"Sandra!" he shouted at her, and she felt his fingers on her wrist, taking her pulse. Her exceedingly high pulse. She felt light-headed, even flat on her back. She tried to force her eyes open, feeling a hand on her face, the back of Gerry's fingers stroking her forehead.

Then, suddenly, something changed, and she could open her eyes. She was worried, though; she couldn't move her right leg at all now. "Gerry," she groaned. His hand was on her cheek, trying to calm her. "Gerry, I'm fine," she told him, but it was a barefaced lie. She was not fine, not in the slightest. The light from the clear sky hurt her eyes, and everything seemed louder than usual. "Help me up, will you?"

He obliged, taking her hand and guiding her carefully to her feet and keeping an arm around her waist so she didn't fall over. She wanted to be fine, and she jerked herself away out of Gerry's grip. But the lack of balance took her by surprise and she fell onto the side of her car. "Sandra," he argued. "Sandra, you just collapsed, for God's sake. You need to go to hospital."

"No," she retorted. "I need to work." She put her head down, trying to breathe properly.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, annoyed at her determination. She was gripping the car for dear life. Her leg wouldn't let her stand up. It would just buckle underneath her because there was no feeling in it. "Either you let me take you to A&E, or I call an ambulance," he threatened her.

"Are you threatening me?" she demanded.

"No," he replied. "I'm giving you a choice. One way or the other, you are bloody well seeing a doctor about this!" She felt his arm around her waist, taking her gently away from the car so he could open the door. She tried to stand on her own but had to give in. Se ended up leaning heavily on him, depending more on him than she ever thought she would have to. She heard her foot scraping the ground. She could only drag it from her pelvis. Any lower and there was no point.

She felt like her head was lighter than air, like she would fall over if Gerry let her go, which was probably what would happen. He placed her carefully in the car, and glanced at her questioningly when she couldn't put her legs in the car. "I can't feel my leg," she admitted, and she realised that she was actually _scared_.

He squeezed her leg gently, and asked her, "Can you feel that?" She shook her head, and there were frightened tears stinging her eyes. He smiled at her, trying to take her mind off it. "This ain't how I pictured you letting me feel your legs," he joked, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

She just glared at him, not in the mood for his jokes. She was too _scared_ to laugh with him. He ever so gently lifted her right leg into the car and she moved her left on her own. She'd never been ill like this before. And she was ready to admit it: she was sick.

She thought on how horrible the past twenty-four hours had been. The end of a harrowing case of three murdered siblings. She went home late to a blazing row. She'd had a glass, a mug and a coffee pot drunkenly and clumsily thrown at her. She'd went to UCOS, uncomfortable in the silence of her home, to drink more wine than was sensible and, for the first time since she was a small child, she cried herself to sleep.

What a day.

The drive to the hospital was silent, and Sandra finally let the tears spill over onto her cheeks. She was _ill_. She was halfway paralysed, for crying out loud!

When Gerry took hold of her, she was surprised by how she was practically using him as a right leg. Her arm was around his neck, and it was still tingling, though she could feel the cold pain there again. They walked in and they were immediately taken to a cubicle when Gerry informed the nurse of the numbness in Sandra's limbs. It didn't take half as much time as she'd thought. Within two hours, and after two conversations – one with a nurse and one with a doctor – she was transferred to an Acute Admissions Unit for observation and an MRI.

The doctor had been confused and went for the Clinical Lead to aid him. And _he_ told her, "This could be anything from a mini stroke to a panic attack, so I'm going to admit you to AAU for more tests." That was all they told her, and it only terrified her. The word "stroke" in particular scared her, after seeing what a stroke had done to her mum.

And all the while, Gerry held her hand tight. She felt weak, vulnerable in the hands of others. Before she knew it, she was lying on her back being told to stay still, in a hugely noisy MRI scanner. The seriousness of this hit her like a tonne of bricks. It was serious enough that the ED felt she had to be admitted to another ward. It was serious enough that she had asked Gerry to call Strickland to assure him that she wasn't in immediate danger but the doctor insisted she be kept for the night.

The pain in her arm was escalating slowly, and as she was wheeled back to the AAU, she could feel extreme frozen pain replace the numbness at the top of her leg. When she got back, she found Gerry sitting in a chair, and another man standing next to him. The man she didn't really want to see. The one who had drunkenly thrown her kitchen equipment at her.

"Jamie," she breathed. She wanted to reassure him that she was fine, but she couldn't help but feel he was partly responsible for this. "Jamie, I don't want you here, Do you even remember what you did last night?" He shook his head, saying nothing. Her temper rose, and she suddenly didn't care that Gerry and a ward full of doctors, nurses, patients and relatives could see and hear her. She heard the monitor beep faster at her side.

"Let me see," she snarled at him. "I came home after a particularly nasty day at work – you can ask Gerry how awful that case was – and you came over, drunk, and accused me of cheating!" she spat at him. "Then we got into a screaming match and you threw dirty dishes at me! Ring any bells?"

Her heart rate rose with her fury, and the monitor attached to her finger warned that her heart rate and gone above a hundred and ten. She knew that wouldn't have happened if she wasn't already in such a vulnerable position. A nurse rushed over, but realised temper was causing the sharp rise in her heart rate.

Just then, Gerry said to Jamie, her boyfriend of two months, in a low, threatening voice, "Get out of here. Now. Before I break your puny little neck."

"For the record, Jamie," she added to him before he left, "I never want to see or hear from you again."

He didn't argue; she knew he wouldn't cause a scene in the middle of a busy admissions ward full of sick people. The nurse guided Jamie out of the ward, and Gerry took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb on the back of it. She didn't cry. She was too angry to cry. And the pain descended gradually down her leg was distracting her.

The clock read two in the afternoon when she felt herself drifting off. Gerry was still holding her hand, and she was still scared silly, but she did feel slightly better in the knowledge Jamie was never going to throw another glass at her. She couldn't believe it when he turned up out of the blue, drunk and bloody paranoid, and did that.

As she finally managed to fall into some form of sleep, she felt fingers in her hair and a hand gripping hers tightly. She fell asleep wondering exactly what caused this. I couldn't a stroke? Could it? She'd never had a panic attack before. Those were the two options the doctor were leaning toward, after all.

All she knew was that she was scared, in pain and upset. And the person by her side was Gerry Standing, and not her boyfriend she was meant to trust. Bottom line: she trusted Gerry to stand by her.

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please leave a review and tell me how I did!  
Sarah x**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for taking a little while - life is mental. Also, my best friend is staying over next week and we have a LOT to do, so it may be quite slow next week too :( and my mum made me get my hair cut and I know resemble an elf.**

**Sarah x**

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Sandra woke suddenly, and it took her a while to remember she was lying in a hospital bed. She felt a hand in hers, comforting her, while she felt agony down one side. She looked at the clock. nine at night. Hours of paralysis, and now she was in agony. Just bloody perfect.

She looked around and found Gerry stirring from the sleep he must have succumbed to earlier. "Wha's'up?" he mumbled sleepily. "Oh," he said when he lifted his head. "You're awake. How you feeling?"

"Like hell," she admitted. Gerry's phone beeped, and he snorted at the text message he read. "What's funny?" she asked, wanting him to say something to make her laugh and smile. He was shaking his head while he replied to the message, and then he looked up at her with a smile.

"Caitlin wants to know why I haven't turned up to dinner. She's ordering me to get over there and put it right," he laughed.

Sandra sniggered with him. "She's quite bossy, that one," she remarked, remembering when she had reminded Sandra of how little she could be prosecuted with when she scored drugs for her dad to aid an investigation.

"I made the mistake of letting her watch Star Trek: Voyager when she was a kid," he joked darkly. Sandra started giggling at him, wondering if he was for real. "Seriously," he insisted. "She was like a mini-Kathryn Janeway. She still is. Have you ever watched it?" She nodded, having watched it a few times out of sheer boredom, finding it wasn't as bad as she'd thought. It became what she would watch on a night she couldn't find anything else.

"Yeah, well," he continued sourly. "She spent a good few years of her life with her hands on her hips telling me "do it." She drove me up the bloody wall!" he exclaimed quietly so as not to wake the other patients.

"Come on, Gerry," she grinned at him. "She couldn't have been that bad. Anyway, I can remember that Kathryn Janeway had a lot of good things about her. Courage. Compassion. Brains. Determination. Selflessness."

"She _is _that bad," he muttered. "But yeah, I guess." He started laughing quietly and started to tell Sandra a story about his little girl. "When she was a kid, about fourteen, she was being bullied by a boy at school. We came across him on a day out to the cinema, and he was a piece of work. When I was buying popcorn, he threatened to push her down the escalator. You know what she said to him?"

"Go on. Amuse me," Sandra smiled at him.

"She told him – "You know, I'm really easy to get along with – most of the time – but I don't like bullies, and I don't like threats, and I don't like _you_, Gavin." And then she walked away from him, and he never bothered her again."

Sandra knew those lines in the back of her mind, and knew who said them to who, and she started laughing. The image of a young Caitlin nailing a bully like that was satisfying. She didn't need to resort to violence or vulgar insults. She just found the courage to tell him what for. She tilted her head back slightly, laughing as quietly as was humanly possible.

She hadn't laughed this much in ages, mainly because she hadn't had much to laugh about. Before she knew it, she was leaning forward, still laughing, and her head was against Gerry's and they were quietly tittering together. It was a distraction from the pain in her right side, but she was still acutely aware of where the aching was and how awful it felt.

When the hilarity of the story wore off, she was left lying in her bed, unable to move in her pain. She refused to let on how painful it was to Gerry. He would only worry, and he worried about her enough as it was. The tingling was coming back into her foot; she was losing the sensation there again. But still she refused to tell a doctor, a nurse, or her best friend.

She thought on that for a moment: best friend. When did Gerry Standing become her best friend? She could recall a time when she strongly disliked him, and made it clear. But then the irritation became more amusing at times, and she looked forward to when they would mock and wind each other up. And then she discovered how fiercely he would try and protect her, and there was the heated discussion that led to him admitting he hated seeing her in danger and how he wished he could protect her more. She didn't know how it happened, but suddenly, he was there at her side, whatever happened.

And he was here at her side now, when she was hurt, and upset, and facing the possibility that she could have had a stroke. His hand was holding hers tightly, promising her he would always be there.

"Sandra," he asked her softly. "What exactly happened with Jamie last night?" he mentioned the incident for the first time, wondering if she was going to open up about it.

"He was pissed," she admitted. "He came round and thought I was cheating on him, so he lost it. Threw glasses and stuff at me."

"So why did you sleep in the office last night?" he asked, clearly confused as to why she had chosen to sleep on the hard floor of her office rather than her own soft bed.

"I don't know," she whispered. "It just felt strange being at home after he left. Like I wasn't safe, because he could just as easily come back. He was paranoid, and drunk, and it's never a good combination."  
"Well, you're safe now," he promised her, squeezing her hand gently. "Go back to sleep." He rubbed her arm, and she could feel herself relax slightly at his touch. She was half-asleep when she felt him stroke her cheek lightly, but she didn't object like she did before. She never thought she would need him. She never thought he would be the one to be there fr her if she ever got ill. Though, now she thought on it, all she had were her three boys and Esther.

Her dreams were vivid, reliving the past few years of her life. The glasses and bowls flying past her last night. Finding out the truths she would have been happier not knowing. Sitting in that front room, watching her newly discovered half-brother in his adoptive mother's arms. Wiping tears away from her face, accusing her own mother of more than thirty years of lies. Having to put Brian through rehab again, after watching his behaviour deteriorate. Crashing her car to stop Jack killing Hanson. Gerry stumbling through her front door after being beaten. Arguments about her sometimes aggressive behaviour, or Gerry's foolhardiness, or Brian's obsessiveness, or Jack's occasional blatant disregard for the rules of the twenty-first century police force. Bing held to gunpoint at Pinewood Studios, terrified of dying there and then.

Then came the happier moments. The laughs, the carry on. Gerry singing to her in the office, close enough to kiss her, when Strickland walked in. Jack mediating the meeting between the Bentons and the Genaros, and the hilarity she and Gerry and Brian took from it. Brian's many eccentricities, his intelligence that put the rest of the unit to shame. Him and Gerry fighting like girls behind the desks. Gerry starting a fight at the award ceremony, earning a serious death threat from his guv'ner. The carry on over the swear box. Pretending Jack and Brian were her lovers to shut her friends up. Jubilation as Luke Hanson finally agreed to testify against his father. Outwitting Kitty Campbell so that she was forced to face up to her crime, even if she couldn't be convicted of it.

The way Gerry caught her as she fell into his arms when she was thrown down by the man pointing a gun to her head. The way Gerry argued with her over her own safety. The way Gerry pointed out to her there was more to live for than work. The way Gerry treated her when she felt fragile. The way Gerry kissed her cheek. The first time was cheeky, the second eternally grateful. The way she felt when his lips touched her face.

Her sleep was filled with the images of her life. The stress, the pain, the lies. The laughs, the fun, the jokes. The care, the protection, the love.

But she woke to a doctor standing over her. She knew she was about to find out how ill she was, and how it was going to affect her, and whether it was all physical or partly psychological.

The only thing she could do was grip Gerry's arm tightly, letting his hand fall on top of hers, and silently ask him to reassure her that he would be there, through thick and thin. Wealth and poverty. Health and sickness.

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**Hope this is OK!  
****Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!  
Sarah x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So sorry for not updating for so long. I blame college. Though I am pretty pleased with myself - I somehow achieved the miracle of getting 100% in my engine lubrication systems test. Don't ask me how, because I have no clue whatsoever.**

**Sarah x**

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"Good morning," she said to the doctor cautiously, tapping Gerry's cheek lightly to wake him up. He stirred lazily and quickly woke himself up when he realised there was a doctor standing over them. "Have you found anything out?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Well, it's not a stroke as there's no sign if it anywhere in your MRI scan," he explained. "I honestly think it was a form of panic attack," he admitted. "Did you struggle to breathe at all before you collapsed?"  
She thought on it for a second and decided the answer was 'no.' But then she thought again. Her breathing had become ragged last night, and she'd put that down to the insane amount of crying she did. But what if it wasn't just the crying, that might have been contributing to her ill health now. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I was crying a lot last night, and my breathing obviously went a bit funny, but I just thought it was because I was crying."

The doctor pulled up a chair next to her, and she watched him share a dark, worried look with Gerry. "I hate to ask this Sandra, but the ward sister said you lost your temper yesterday. Did you suffer any trauma at all the morning of this attack, or the night before?"

Sandra looked around to Gerry, who gave her a meaningful look, telling her to spit it out to the doctor, so he could at least try and help her. "No," she said. "Well, yes. I don't know!" she sighed again. "I wasn't hurt."

"But it was enough to upset you," the doctor concluded. "Do you mind me asking exactly what happened?"

"Yes, I do mind, as it happens," she immediately snapped defensively. She could hear Gerry sigh and she didn't even need to look to know that he was shaking his head at her stubbornness. He took her hand in hers and squeezed gently, and she could feel him urging her to tell the doctor the truth. And she knew now that if she wouldn't, and it was imperative to the doctor's ability to help her, Gerry would say it.

"Sandra," she heard Gerry say. "You've gotta tell him what happened. Then he can help you get through this. She turned to look into his eyes, and she saw the now undeniable truth right there in front of her: he loved her. And he loved her enough to ignore her wishes if it was going to help her. She refused to underestimate Gerry Standing. He'd proved her wrong before, and she knew he would do it again.

She looked back to the doctor, deciding to tell him before Gerry did. "My boyfriend," she stated. "That night I came home, and we'd had a really horrible case we'd just managed to solve. We're police officers. Well, I am. Him and the other two are semi-retired," she explained the basis of UCOS. "Anyway, I came home, and my boyfriend, Jamie, he came into my house and started throwing things at me – me was drunk – and accusing me of cheating on him. Not my best night ever," she concluded.

"I would have to agree with you there," the doctor gave her a soft smile. "So after he left, what did you do?"

"Drank a little too much wine, and went to stay the night in my office," she said bluntly. "I knew there was a decent chance he'd come back, and I wasn't about to wait around and find out," she rationalised her actions. "It's a bloody wonder I didn't crash the car," she added.

"Do you remember everything you felt?" he asked her. "Do you remember what you were thinking?"

She looked at her hands for a second before beginning from the start. "I went into the office, and I was far from sober. I started crying, and I felt my chest tighten, and it was quite sore, but I just assumed it was the strain of crying. Then I remember thinking, _Oh, shit; I must be going mental to be getting so upset_..." she trailed off for a moment, deep in thought. Now she thought on it, that was no ordinary way to cry. "My hands were shaking, and I was overheating, and I was actually convinced for a moment that I'd let myself come off the rails," she confessed, relaying the entire experience to the doctor and Gerry.

"Sounds like a panic attack to me," concluded the doctor. "You'll be fine once this after effect wears off. The probability is that this will not be the last you see of the attacks, but in time you should find a way to control them. And lying in a hospital bed going over it in your mind won't do much to help, either," he added as an afterthought.

"So can I go back to work?" she demanded, very predictably.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "But don't over-exert yourself, and keep someone with you all the time in case this happens again." They were strict orders, and she knew she had to follow them to the letter if she was to get any peace and quiet from her boys and Strickland. And she had no intention of telling the other three of this. No way was she letting them think she was weak.

"OK," she agreed. Gerry gave her a sceptical look. "I promise!" she exclaimed impatiently. "I won't do anything that could bring this on, and I've got no chance of physically exerting myself in this state, have I?!" she demanded. "I'll be lucky to hobble out of my office for a cup of coffee."

"Would you like crutches to support you, as we don't know how long this sensation, or lack thereof, will last in your leg?" the doctor offered her.

"No, thanks," she replied, almost coldly. She did not need a crutch of any kind, literal or figurative. She was independent – she needed nobody. She didn't rely on anything, as she'd once told her mother, who was trying to wind her up. All she'd received in return was a reminder of how much she resembled her father.

"Alright then," the doctor said, not at all taken aback by her icy reaction to his suggestion. "I'll be able to discharge you. I'll just go and get a nurse to finish the paperwork," he added before he left Sandra to glare at Gerry.

She rounded on him immediately, making sure he knew damn well that word of this was not to reach the ears of anyone else. "If you think I'm going to be seen as some weak little woman who has panic attacks left, right and centre, you are sadly mistaken," she growled. "You do not tell _anyone_ what that doctor said, you hear?"

"Sandra, having panic attacks does not make you weak," he told her sternly. "You are not weak," he repeated, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair. "You'll be OK. Now, lets get you out of that hospital gown and into your own clothes," he ordered her.

"Get out and draw the curtain," she snapped, her temper wearing thin in her exhaustion. He raised his hands in acknowledgement and left her to try and struggle into her shirt and jeans. She managed to pull the shirt on, just not to button it up, and she couldn't lift her leg high enough to get it in the appropriate hole. She sighed in defeat and popped her head outside the curtain. "Can you please...?" she asked, unable to utter the last two words she ought to have said. Sandra Pullman did not ask for help.

He obliged graciously, and pulled her jeans up her legs and buttoned them for her, and fastened the buttons on her shirt. And, even in her state of ill health, she felt a white hot flash of desire as his hands brushed her chest. His fingers lingered on her waist a little too long, but for some reason, she didn't particularly care. He'd seen her ill, so what difference would seeing her skin make? Not much.

Her left hand, the one that was still fully functioning, reached for the back of his neck, and she pulled him in closer to her, crushing her lips into his. And then she realised where she was, and why she was there, and all the reasons why this was a very, very, very stupid thing to do. She decided to say nothing as she one-handedly packed her things into a bag. "Can you please drive me home for some fresh clothes, since I slept in these ones?" she asked him, completely avoiding the subject of what happened.

"Yeah, of course," he smiled at her, keeping his hand under her elbow in case she stumbled. And by the time they were finished gathering her stuff, the discharge forms were signed and she was free to go. So she let Gerry put an arm around her waist and walk with her to her car, for the simple reason that she would rather be tempted by what she couldn't have than be lying on the floor again.

She briefly thought, just for a second, about if she hadn't chickened out. He wasn't that bad; actually, he was loyal to her, and he cared about her, and he wouldn't try and harm her. Was it really so terrible to have fallen for him?

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please leave a review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


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